


Three's A Crowd

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Incest, M/M, Multi, NSFW, Oral, Sibling Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft never believed Sherlock would be stupid enough to pass up a relationship with his flatmate, and is about to help baby brother rectify that mistake</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's A Crowd

_‘Please!_ ’

Oh now this was delicious. Sherlock rarely begged, unless of course he was being deliberately manipulative, or was particularly desperate. 

‘No.’

‘But I _need_ it!’ 

Ah, the whine of desperation it was then. He probably didn’t have the brain function for manipulation right now. 

The consulting detective was practically twitching in excited need, a pent up bundle of nervous energy. This was, in turn, very easy to exploit. Rarely did one get such an opportunity to be in control of Sherlock. A fine sheen of sweat littered his hair line and cool green eyes were already as wide as saucers.

‘I already said no.’

Sherlock made an angry snarl as the rebuttal, face contorting in rage as he gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulders in effort to relax. 

He really was fraught. It was lovely to watch.

 

Sherlock couldn’t or should that be _wouldn’t_ , wait. With a few long-legged strides he quickly crossed the floor of the Baker Street sitting room and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the kitchen table onto the floor with a loud crash. Bracing face down, sprawled across the table, he loosened his belt buckle and allowed black tailored trousers to slide and pool around his ankles. 

Such brash actions were rewarded with a sharp hitch of breath behind him followed by a soft, almost inaudible, groan.

‘ _Please_.’ He begged again earnestly for effect. ‘He will be here at any moment. _Quickly_.’

Long shirt-covered arms leaned on the table, feet firmly planted on the floor and with bare arse wiggling in the air; Sherlock didn’t think he was going to be indulged. Despite all the dramatics so far, he rarely got his way or was rewarded for such forward, insolent behaviour.

After several agonising moments he eventually heard the familiar and satisfying sound of a zipper being undone.

‘We shouldn’t.’ The voice drolled softly behind him.

Sherlock fought back a disappointed moan. ‘But I’m so ready! I solved the case, you know I did. I need this.’

There was still hesitation. ‘Hmmm?’

Damn, it wasn’t like him to need convincing. Sherlock was practically begging for it, he knew that he wasn’t the most restrained individual when it came to such matters but who else would turn down this opportunity?

Bucking against the table top in longing, the detective arched his back and panted heavily, hoping to arouse the man behind him. The edge of the table scraping across the head of his already fully erect cock was driving him to distraction but provided little in the way of ultimate satisfaction.

Sherlock decided he would need to be more explicitly enticing to get his way. Sliding feet further apart on the floor, he stuck his bare arse out more and used his hands to part pale, smooth cheeks.

‘I’m all ready for you. I prepared.’ 

‘ _God_ ,’ whispered the voice softly behind him, drawing closer, ‘My, you have indeed, like the good little wanton slut you are. What have I told you about playing with yourself when I am not present?’

Sherlock knew his loud moan was disgustingly needy as cool fingertips brushed the inside of his thighs. Even such a delicate ghost of a caress sent shivers all the way up his spine and caused a fresh wave of writhing on the table top.

‘I’m sorry.’ He tried to sound sincere in his apology but was in fact not regretting his decision at all. Not when he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Spreading his thighs almost impossibly wide threw him off balance, forcing his belly into the kitchen table surface. The cool wood was already rapidly heating from his own gently sweating body.

The fingers trailed higher, setting off fresh waves of intense wriggling and bucking. Sherlock’s cock was already leaking in excitement and he could feel the sticky smear of pre-cum cooling over the wooden surface and his naked skin.

Ever higher, fingers trailed the delicate sack of his balls, between his cheeks, before resting on the base of the soft silicon plug he had deftly inserted this morning, knowing exactly what he wanted from today.  
The plug twisted suddenly, rotating, massaging tight inner muscles as his hips bucked back and forth, torn between pulling away and having the plug slide from his body and pushing back to have it press deeper.

‘Oh, yes, _please_!’ He couldn’t stop his voice escaping in desperate whimper. More. He wanted more.

Sherlock’s body resisted, fighting to hold onto the toy so snugly fitted inside him. But with a firm tug, it eventually popped from his body and he could already feel the gentle trickle of lubricant escaping his twitching arse and make its way down his thigh.

‘Oh, _Sherlock_.’

He knew he would pay dearly for this unauthorised gratification and the desperate, disgusting, begging site he was making of himself right now, but fingers soon replaced the plug and he didn’t care. Sherlock would take his punishment with utmost pleasure later.

He needed more, right now. It had to be rough and harder and hit just the right spot. Squeezing and tensing around the invading fingers, Sherlock bucked his hips and pushed backwards using the table for leverage.

‘Just-just fuck me!’

Caressing digits withdrew and the detective felt the first push of velvety smooth head against his entrance and fought to relax. 

Well that was easier than he thought it would be. He had anticipated much more begging to be done before he got his way. Instead, he now relished the feeling of skin on skin as long fingers played across his hip bones, digging into his flesh just this side of painful.

Sherlock knew from memory that the erection currently sliding against him was much larger than the toy he pleasured himself with this morning. And while he _had_ carefully lubricated his tight anal passage, the thick pulsing cock inching its way into him was not.

Breath hissed from his lungs in a forced rush as he was impaled, fast and deep in one long movement. No chance to adjust or brace himself he could only grip the table edge tightly and hold on as his body was bucked and rocked roughly without mercy.

It was wonderfully brutal, and just what he needed after the distinctly anticlimactic ending to his case. 

Bare feet slid against the smooth linoleum flooring, Sherlock had to fight to keep upright, upper body still splayed across the kitchen table, but the detective was aided by the firm press of warm masculine body behind him, and the driving cock that kept him anchored. Every thrust was punctuated by a sharp jerk of his stretched frame and an ever-increasing incoherent moan as he felt it deep in the hollows of his bones.  
He was so close, the warm approaching weight of orgasm building low in his abdomen was threatening to explode with every vicious thrust. Cock straining and pulsing against the cool wood of the table, he didn’t even need to reach a hand between his legs to pleasure himself. 

As fun as this was, after several minutes everything was beginning to hurt, his back, his legs, his arse…palms slammed into the wood beside his head and he felt the tickle of warm breath and lips against his earlobe. Sherlock shivered as the deep voice whispered along his skin.

‘Don’t you _fucking_ dare.’

He could only whimper in response, too far gone, too lost in control. All that mattered was the firm hard body thrusting into him and the pleasurable tingling traveling through every muscle.

‘You don’t cum until given permission, Sherlock.’

Too late. It was no good. Sherlock knew he was too far gone and the deliciously low threat and new angle brushing every inch inside him pushed him over the edge. Inner muscles contracted, almost painfully, squeezing tight the member embedded within. His own cock was dangling low between his legs, the very tip brushing back and forth over the edge of the table with every buck, further adding to his stimulation.

His orgasm rippled through the lower half of his body before the _denial_ of permission was even finished. 

Utterly spent, Sherlock sank bonelessley onto the table, muscles twitching as he gasped and panted. Pools of his own ejaculate now splattered onto the table top and was now being rubbed along his shirt and stomach.

Strong fingers tangled in his hair, snapping his neck back almost at a painful angle. Long pale throat taught, he cried out as teeth sank into bare skin, enough to leave a bruise for later.

‘Unwise.’ Came the threateningly seductive murmur in his ear as his hair was finally released and he was practically thrown back face-down. 

Sherlock had to catch himself from slamming his cheek into the hard surface and now really fought to keep his footing as the punishment for his oversight was reaped on his body. Pushed flat and body jerking violently with every punishing thrust, he could feel the old and slightly rickety wooden kitchen table strain and creak under him, inching forward by the violence of the hips behind him.

The assault didn’t end as quickly as Sherlock thought, despite his encouraging moaning and wriggling. That _usually_ did the trick. The spasming and contracting of his body during his own orgasm was usually enough to push his paramour over the edge.

Not this time. The detective’s muscles were aching and quivering by the time he was allowed to fully relax on the table top, gasping for breath and deep purple shirt clinging to him with sweat. The quick and sudden removal of the spent cock from his backside was a shock and drew a gasp from his throat.

Oh that was wonderful! Every muscle protested as Sherlock eventually braced forearms on the table and lifted his dark head, raven curls in disarray. A sharp surprised gasp tore form his lips as he caught sight of the short blond figure standing in the kitchen threshold, both hands laden with shopping bags and a look of utter confusion across his features.

‘ _John_.’ Sherlock mumbled in a mortified whisper.

‘Yes,’ Purred Mycroft, suit covered legs brushed his brother’s bare thighs, ‘He has been there quite a while.’

He still sounded out of breath from their activities and Sherlock wanted to turn to get a look at his brother, to warn him with his eyes, but he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from his awe-struck flatmate.

Mycroft moved carefully around from the back of the table and both Holmes’s noticed the automatic drop of John’s eyes to Mycroft’s groin and his wet, softening cock exposed from the zipper of his trousers.  
Without further comment Mycroft removed a handkerchief from his suit jacket and deliberately slowly cleaned off the mixture of cum and lubricant from himself.

Embarrassed, Sherlock made to grab his trousers from around his ankles and struggle from the table top, but his brother placed a hand firmly in the small of his back and forced him back down until his cheek was resting against the smooth wood. With pocket square in hand, Mycroft gently wiped the leaking mixture from his brother too. 

 

Carefully folding the item, John noted that Mycroft placed it into a light grey suited trouser pocket, rather than be discarded.

‘You, ugh, you and he-‘ John panted, gaze sliding between both Holmes brothers, shopping bags now forgotten and discarded over the floor.

The government official only gave a small lazy smile, ‘My apologies, but he was desperate. You know how he gets after his cases.

‘Yea- _no_!’ The doctor looked horrified, shaking his head, eyes still wide and startled darting between them.

Sherlock shifted again from the table top but was quickly reprimanded.

‘Do not move, Sherlock.’ Mycroft authoritative voice cracked like a whip. It never rose, but it was harsher, firmer. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. 

Sherlock swallowed hard, body tense, but he dutifully returned to his prone position on the kitchen table with head bent. He clearly didn’t want to look his flatmate in the eye. Staring at the fine grain of the table top was much more appealing at the moment.

‘ _No_?’ Mycroft said incredulously and raised one sculpted eyebrow in the doctor’s direction. 

John paled at the intense scrutiny and fought not to back away as the older Holmes silently approached him like some great stalking predator that had just sensed blood. 

Glancing skittishly between both men, John was having a hard time processing what he just witnessed; Sherlock’s pale beautifully lean body bucking in pleasure, his excited breathy moaning and the meaty slap of bodies together, Mycroft’s small knowing smirk when he caught his gaze as he first walked into the room. Mycroft didn’t _stop_ ; he just…kept going, ploughing into the man under him with renewed vigour. John thought he would have the expression of Sherlock’s exquisitely rapturous face as he orgasmed burned into his mind for all eternity.

Mycroft was close, only inches from him and look of incredulity across aquiline features that John didn’t quite understand. 

‘You mean that you have never… _tried_ him?

Mycroft laughed, rich and deep, but not like anything was particularly funny. 

‘I never would have thought…after all this _time_!’

 

He had teased them. Of course he had. His childish detective brother and his wounded army doctor. Such an amusing couple. So close, and already in tune. But Mycroft really believed that the pair of them would have been involved, especially given the apparent desires of his brother. Even in some small capacity, even if it were just for times-like Mycroft did- when Sherlock needed a firm hand, and could no longer suppress himself.

But all these years and John remained untouched. This was so _unlike_ his brother. 

Mycroft knew John was special. From the first time he met him. Sherlock had never warmed or become so attached to one person so quickly and unfalteringly. The older Holmes also knew that Sherlock loved the old army doctor. It was a different love to that the pair of them shared but until now he hadn’t quite realised that his brother loved John enough to keep his distance.

Oh he would need to rectify this. It would be difficult, painful even, to give Sherlock up, but he would do it if it would ensure his brothers happiness. Mycroft would let him go if Sherlock could truly make the effort for a relationship work. He wasn’t convinced that John would accept him as part of the package or be quite so willingly subservient as baby brother. He would need to test the waters or disappear from the picture.  
‘How long have you two…’ John hesitated, trailing off, unwilling or uncomfortable in saying it. 

Mycroft glanced at his brother spread across the kitchen table, Sherlock seemed nervous, his body tense and ridged, practically screaming in panic. He was being so uncharacteristically hesitant. Oh dear, the poor boy had it bad for this one.

Mycroft made a show of pondering the doctor’s question, enjoying watching the man squirm. In the years since he had first tried to intimidate Sherlock’s new flatmate Mycroft had as of yet, failed to gain much fear or respect.

‘Oh, I don’t know…how old are you now Sherlock?’

‘Thirty six,’ he mumbled into the table surface. The back of his neck was a startling shade of red. It had been quite a while since the government official had seen his baby brother blush. He was tempted to push this more just to see the perfect pink hue spread across his gorgeously defined cheekbones.

‘That long. Hmmm, must be twenty years then.’

John’s eyes widened even more. He swallowed and licked his lips slowly.

Mycroft caught the doctors continued furtive glances at Sherlock, the long naked legs, the bare backside. His gaze would dart back guilty to Mycroft, only to wander down the front of his tailored suit until it reached his groin. Then back to his brother again. The endless cycle was quite amusing as he observed John’s brain process all the new information that he had gathered in such a short space of time. He was even perspiring significantly.

Time for action. Gently cupping his elbow, Mycroft eased John further into the kitchen. As they approached the prone figure of Sherlock, the doctor pulled back slightly but caught himself in his hesitation, and continued forwards.

This was good, Mycroft thought. Despite the rather hefty shock this afternoon John was allowing himself to be easily led. He wasn’t shying away from his touch or his brother’s naked, cum-soaked body. This wasn’t going to scare him off. Mycroft might just be able to make something work between the three of them.

The older Holmes _had_ noticed John standing there watching them for several minutes during their intercourse. If he hadn’t enjoyed it, then he would have left, simple as that. Not to mention the slight bulge in the front of loose denims was giving away his feelings on the matter.

As Mycroft gently pulled him closer, they were left standing behind the sprawled Sherlock whose pert arse was chilling in the cool air. Sherlock remained quaveringly passive on the kitchen table; his back straightened and tensed ever so slightly now that he couldn’t see where his brother or flatmate had gotten to.

It was a mark of just how well Mycroft had trained him that Sherlock barely flinched when he ran a soft elegant hand around his hip and down the curve of one cheek.

‘Lift your shirt brother dear, show yourself off.’

The deep purple shirt had slid, almost covering his groin from view, so under orders, and with a shaky breath, Sherlock tentatively grasped the hem and eased it up higher until it was bunched around his waist.

Mycroft trailed a hand down the exposed section of his brother’s spine before firmly grabbing the flesh of a round, plump cheek and giving a firm squeeze. It was just enough, he knew, to make Sherlock whimper softly and wriggle a little. 

Pale, perfect skin was now marked wonderfully red. Beside him, John’s breath was coming heavier. His eyes wide and pupils dilated as he watched the beautiful sight in front of him. All the reactions of desire and lust easy to read for someone like Mycroft. 

If only Sherlock could see the reaction his body was getting! He had probably never broached the subject with his friend, unsure if his perhaps unwelcome advances.

Mycroft did it again, leaving an angrier red mark across Sherlock’s skin and he watched as John’s tongue darted out ever so slightly to wet his lips. The doctor adjusted his stance, shifting the bulge in his jeans subtly. But he should know by now that a Holmes misses nothing, he was fooling no one. Shocked and surprised or not, he was certainly enjoying this and Mycroft could read him like a book.

Carefully, Mycroft grabbed John’s wrist, noting the increasing perspiration on his palms, and eased the hand towards the prone figure on top of the kitchen counter. As the tip of John’s fingers connected with cool, creamy thigh flesh his hand jerked back a little until Mycroft continued to guide it across the goosepimpled skin. 

Sherlock shifted on the table, squirming, his long lean frame writhing about with abandon. The action did nothing but entice both men stood behind him. 

The doctor’s breath came out in a large satisfied gasp when Mycroft forced the palm of his hand against Sherlock’s bare backside and rubbed back and forth. John's fingers flexed all on their own, pushing deeper into soft downy skin, not even fighting the older Holmes direction.

Leaning forwards, Mycroft’s lips almost tickled John’s earlobe, causing the smaller man to jerk violently but his hand quickly found the spot he had been investigating again. Mycroft felt like the voice of temptation in his ear, encouraging him into wanton behaviour.

‘Try him, John. Sherlock won’t mind what you do to him, he is well… _trained_. I guarantee you he is enjoying this.’

Now that he seemed a little more comfortable, or at least more confident, the doctor didn’t need as much directing. Mycroft slowly removed his own hand that had been guiding, allowing John’s smaller palm to freely skit over bare smooth cheeks. John leaned into the caress more, fingers kneading Sherlock’s skin just a little firmer with each sweep. 

Mycroft purposely pressed himself against the doctor’s body, keeping the line of his own touching just to see if the other man would back away. He didn’t.

As the government official snuck a hand down the front of John’s denims, he gently rubbed his palm over the erection barely contained behind the cloth. He was rewarded with a shiver as crystal blue eyes reluctantly turned from Sherlock’s stretched body towards him. Johns gaze was wide and uncertain but there was definite pleasure there, desire quickly overwhelming and sense of discomfort.

Mycroft gave him a final firm squeeze that had the doctor gasp before he glanced down at his brother; a small smile was playing across his features. Sherlock’s eyes had fluttered closed, perfectly sculpted face a mask of pleasure and contentment as he enjoyed his flatmate’s hands wandering his body. Cheek firmly placed against the table, his Cupid’s bow mouth twisted and pouted with every caress. It was like watching a cat being stroked; all that was missing was a satisfied purring.

Becoming bolder and with no guidance from the older Holmes, John carefully slid his hand lower, brushing the delicate sack of Sherlock’s balls with his knuckles. 

Moaning softly on the table, Sherlock was becoming eager for more, pushing back onto the still-too-hesitant hand. He was used to harsher treatment from his brother, not gentle tentative exploration.

Mycroft edged closer to the doctor, long fingers leaving his teasing grope to wrapping around John’s lower jaw as he delicately turned his face towards him. Mere inches from one another, John licked his lips and Mycroft watched that movement in eagerness. He was an attractive man, he wouldn’t deny. While the doctor was certainly more of a fascination for his brother, there was an appeal there for Mycroft too. He would not be averse to having that mouth on him and any sort of sexual encounter wasn’t exactly going to be a chore.

Stroking a weathered cheek, Mycroft leaned closer, mouth hovering just millimetres about John’s. The doctors breath was coming fast and heavy, beautiful blue eyes blinking owlishly. He was the quietest and most passive that the government official had ever seen. If he had known this is what it would take to shut that smart mouth he would have made sure that he and his brother were caught long ago.  
Mycroft paused, he had an idea.

‘Sherlock.’

The prone figure on the table top glanced uncertainly over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he watched his brother touch the man he so clearly loved. Mycroft would remove that little pang of jealousy from him soon enough. It wasn’t the first time they had shared but the feelings for this one were clearly greater.

‘I’m going to let you choose, brother mine.’

Sherlock’s lips parted ever so slightly. His face betrayed nothing but Mycroft could see that immense brain ticking over behind the steely gaze that constantly darted between his flatmate and brother. Choice was a treat he didn’t often get.

‘Would you like to taste the lovely doctor’s mouth first?’

Sherlock’s eyes widened. His mouth opened but closed again as he paused. Several moments past, and he seemed to take an age to think it over, while the warmth from the doctors body radiated against the government official. Mycroft was certain his baby brother would jump at the chance; the feelings for this man were there to read across his face.

Finally, licking his lips, Sherlock nodded slowly. A soft ‘ _yes_ ’ barely whispering aloud in the Baker Street flat.

‘But there are… _conditions_.’ Mycroft added in a succulent voice.

He could see uncertainty creep into his brother’s eyes, a man who never dealt with choices well. That is why Mycroft dealt with him with a firm hand. He was dominant in every way. The instances where he gave him a choice were not really choices at all. Mycroft already knew what Sherlock would choose. But he wanted to make brother dear squirm.

‘You are getting a choice. These lovely wet, pouting, kissable lips or…his firm little backside?’

Both John and Sherlock whimpered.

‘You can have the first kiss, but if you do I am going to fuck him. Choose carefully. Understood?’

Mycroft turned back to John who was standing stock still, watching him as if he were about to pounce at any moment, pin him down and begin the fucking right away. Chest rising and falling rapidly, John looked as if he didn’t know exactly what he wanted more. 

Sherlock’s expression was equally incredulous. Mycroft smirked inwardly.

The detective hadn’t said anything; he was still spread across the kitchen table, silent in the face of the choice presented to him. 

Leaning forwards, Mycroft’s lips delicately brushed John’s cheek. There was more stubble there than Sherlock habitually wore, and the strong smell of a distinctly cheap brand of aftershave was not quite as offensive as Mycroft may have thought it would be.

‘So, doctor. Happy with this arrangement?’

John swallowed hard, eyes darting rapidly between both Holmes brothers. 

Sherlock still hadn’t answered either so incentive was obviously needed.

Deliberately slowly, Mycroft began to brush his lips across the other man’s cheek; the tension in the John’s body could easily be felt as he fought not to move. Mycroft had almost reached the corner of the doctor’s lips threatening to take that first kiss away from his brother when Sherlock finally broke his silence and cried out. 

‘No!’

The older Holmes smiled smugly and pulled away just as his brother extracted himself from the table top. John seemed _almost_ disappointed; the breath he had been holding came in a rush, tickling along Mycroft collar.

‘Very well, Sherlock.’

The detective shuffled the few feet to where both men were standing, he never even glanced in his brothers direction, gaze reserved solely for his flatmate. Cupping John’s cheeks tenderly in large hands Sherlock positioned himself in front of the army doctor, bending his taller frame until he was in a perfect angle for a kiss. 

Mycroft used this moment to retreat to the living room situating himself on the armchair where he could still enjoy the show of his brothers first lovers kiss, but giving him the much needed room to claim this special moment for himself.

Sherlock cradled John’s face, a mixture of love, desire and happiness written all over his features at the prospect of what was being allowed.

The doctor meanwhile, seemed almost transfixed, staring into the younger Holmes’ hawk-like face and stunned by the level of emotion displayed there. For a man he once called a machine, there was no denying the feelings now presented.

Sherlock’s gaze dropped, almost shyly, while his voice cracked with long bottled up emotion.

‘I-I.’ He gasped. Sucking in breath quickly through his nose.

‘Sherlock,’ John reassured softly, ‘It’s ok, honestly.’

‘No you don’t understand. I-I _love_ you.’

He smiled brightly, a small almost-laugh escaping his lips, ‘Of course I love you too.’

‘No, no from the minute we moved into this flat together I wanted you. You asked me if I had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. I said no. I-I didn’t think you would want me. Nobody wants me, except Mycroft. You are the best man I have ever met. You make me better than I am. And…I love you.’

John blinked back unshed tears and his heart broke a little at the thought that Sherlock felt no one wanted or cared for him. He pressed his lips pressed tightly together considering his own words carefully, but Sherlock continued, clearly ploughing ahead now that he finally had the courage to get started.

‘But you never wanted me that way. You said I was your best friend, but that you were not gay. So many times. All those girlfriends…’

The doctor’s hands gently covered Sherlock’s, enjoying the warmth and gently play of muscle under his skin. Such pretty hands, so expressive. He never thought they would be expressing this level of feeling towards him.

‘I have always cared Sherlock, more than was necessary. Maybe I didn’t fully realise I wanted you that way. Until I saw Mycroft doing-‘

The detective’s eyes lowered in uncertainty at his friend’s words but he kept gently running fingers over stubble covered cheeks, unwilling to give up the smallest touches that he was now allowed. But Sherlock knew he had to stop or raise an issue, he had to do it, now or never again.

‘That is another thing.’ The hesitation was clear in Sherlock’s voice so John nodded in encouragement for him to continue. 

‘I cannot give him up. Mycroft that is.’

‘ _Sherlock_.’ Mycroft warned with a slight, almost unnoticeable, shake of his head. He did not want to be the cause of this failure. If Sherlock could, for once, make a normal relationship work and be happy, rather than the distinctly odd and unhealthy one they shared. He would let go just fine.

John’s eyes drifted over the pale sculpted face. So earnest this time, Sherlock looked incredibly young and trusting, emotions laid bare and an expression on his face just waiting to be crushed. 

John’s gaze slid to the older Holmes, lounging in the sitting room armchair, no flicker of emotion betrayed his face before returning to the pale swimming pools of green so intently focused on him.

‘For you. I would do it for you. I would do anything.’

Sherlock’s smile was radiant, happy and relieved. 

The doctor shrugged, ‘Plus it was pretty fucking hot.’

Sherlock giggled, actually giggled, John had never heard anything like it issue from his friends mouth. It was a little unnerving. 

However unnerved John was didn’t matter as Sherlock now leaned forwards for his hard won kiss. The detective took a moment to drink in the sight of his flatmates face; he had stared at this face many times, granted some of those times he had been unconscious due to one of Sherlock’s more ambitious experiments, but this time it was for a reason and purpose he never thought he would get. One hand wound round to tangle in short blond hair while the other curved John’s strong jawline.

Lips hovered just about the doctors, hesitating, prolonging the moment of pleasure. Sherlock could finally do it. Get the kiss he so desperately wanted. He never thought he would ever get the chance. This needed to be good, it needed to be _perfect_.

The tip of his lips brushed John’s in a small, almost-tickling movement, but the other man darted out his tongue to lick his lips at the same time. Sherlock couldn’t wait, spurred on by the small contact, it was more than he could handle. Pushing forwards he wrapped himself around John’s body, drinking in his warmth, his energy and placing arms around his shoulders so that he could crush their lips together even closer.  
John tasted wonderful; the soft wet swipe of his tongue against him he could feel all the way down to his toes. The pleasure of simply being allowed to kiss the man was creating a pleasurable warm pooling in the pit of his stomach. Sherlock wasn’t just aroused, he was _happy_.

John, Sherlock was happy to realise, was returning his kiss with equal gusto and this made him exultant. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss the doctor deeply enough to fully express what it meant to him.  
Finally, needing air and pulling away with great reluctance, Sherlock couldn’t help finishing off with a few more gentle pecks across John’s lips, cheeks, and even closed eyelids. He just didn’t want to let his flatmate go. Ever.

After several moments of hard laboured breathing echoing in the small Baker Street flat, Mycroft roused the pair from their bubble.

‘Sherlock.’ The practical purr came from the sitting room.

Turning in his brother’s direction, Sherlock watched as Mycroft crooked a long finger in a come hither motion. Dutifully he left John’s warm embrace, kicked out of the trousers pooled at his ankles and crossed the short space to the chair. Sinking to his knees at Mycroft’s feet, the detective placed one contented cheek on his brother’s lap. 

Mycroft smiled at the happy expression across his features and ran fingers through soft curls, brushing them delicately back from Sherlock’s forehead. 

John was silently observing their exchange, Sherlock half naked and being stroked by his brother as if he were some sort of pet. He didn’t know quite what to make of it. His gaze fell on Mycroft’s steely blue one. He could see care there, whatever this was that may have seemed so odd, so alien to him, there was definite love and affection.

Bending towards Sherlock’s ear, Mycroft whispered low enough for only his brother to hear and nodded towards the doctor, ‘Why don’t you get him ready for me brother mine?’

Sherlock’s head rose slowly from its comfy position cradled in Mycroft suit covered lap. Eyes wide and biting that full pouting bottom lip, he looked eager, and excited, and much younger than his thirty six years.

‘Can I?’ 

He sounded like a child that had been told he could open an early Christmas present. He could be precious at times. The government official nodded and no sooner had he gave permission than Sherlock had leapt to his feet graceful as any cat and disappeared quickly down the hall.

John watched him go with confusion, turning back to face the sitting older brother who was lounging in the chair with his usual air of self-importance.

‘Where-‘

Mycroft help up a hand. ‘Sherlock will be back in a moment.’

Mycroft studied the man standing opposite, positioned just inside the kitchen doorway and shuffling nervously from foot to foot. Sherlock was their common denominator, without him it was a little awkward.

‘Are you really happy, doctor? With this arrangement?’

Licking his lips slowly, John shrugged, his body language tense but trying to appear nonchalant. Mycroft and his brother had spent years conditioning themselves out of the small tell-tale signs of emotion, but he had observed the doctors constant slow blinking and nervous wet of lips many times over the years. It was his default hesitation tactics.

‘I’m not sure. I would do anything for Sherlock. And I wasn’t lying, that there was pretty fucking hot.’

Mycroft smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘You need to understand what you are getting into John.’ 

‘I think I know what I am getting into.’

A defensive response was so typical of him in embarrassing situations, Mycroft smirked, leering at the other man until it made him uncomfortable and he started shifting back and forth, glancing down the hall where the younger Holmes had disappeared.

‘Do you know what I got Sherlock for his birthday this year?’

Puzzled, John frowned, knowing that Mycroft had suddenly changed the conversation for some reason but he couldn’t quite decide why. Slowly he shook his head, thinking back to around the time of his friend’s birthday.

‘He, uh, he went away for a few days at his birthday. Some case he said.’

‘He was with me.’ Mycroft’s gaze left John’s to examine perfectly manicured fingernails. He talked as if he were commenting on nothing but the weather. ‘I took him to Bruges for the weekend. I paid five men to fuck him while I watched.’

The gulp from the doctor was almost comically audible, ‘You-you- _what_?’

Mycroft smirked, ‘Oh he thoroughly enjoyed himself, trust me. One of his little fantasies that I thought that I would indulge. He likes pleasure, he likes pain, and Sherlock _enjoys_ being humiliated. My brother spent most of his birthday weekend tied to a bed with a group of men doing whatever they liked to him, and he only begged them for more. We have a recording somewhere, if you would ever like to see it.’

‘Um…I’m, I’m not quite sure what to say-‘

‘So, doctor, in light of that information and the acts you are about to agree to…may I have a kiss then?’

It would be now, Mycroft expected, for the other man to back out, to run to the door screaming and not look back. His face held a stunned expression that the older Holmes had only seen once before-after a certain leap from the roof of St Bart’s hospital. 

John glanced back to the bedroom door that Sherlock disappeared through before darting back to the man in the chair; he seemed to physically compose himself with great effort before finally nodding slowly. ‘Sure.’

‘Sure,’ was not quite what Mycroft would have expected. He was pleasantly surprised. That didn’t happen often.

Crossing the living room in a few short strides, John stopped just short of the leather arm chair. Mycroft hadn’t moved. He remained seated, fingers gently drumming on the armrest. When John made no move to come forward further he sighed exasperatedly. 

Shifting forwards in the armchair, Mycroft unfolded his crossed legs. Parting his legs wide, he slide to the edge of the chair and raised one eyebrow in John’s direction, nodding towards the spot on the floor at his feet. 

The doctor’s eyes widened but he inched forwards until he was almost touching the government official and carefully eased down onto to his knees. He watched Mycroft’s hawk-like gaze sweep over his face and body, appraising, scrutinising. He was watching him the way a cat watches a very small mouse and John wasn’t so sure if this was a good thing or not.

With elbows balancing on his knees put Mycroft’s face incredibly close. John could smell the sweet pungent smell of tea on the other man’s breath as it lightly grazed his skin. It took a lot of effort not to pull back at such invasion of personal space.

John bit his lip nervously. ‘Are you going to treat me like Sherlock?’

Mycroft’s replying smile was predatory. ‘Yes.’

His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly that John was convinced Mycroft was likely to hear it too. Or even Sherlock further down the hallway. Palms sweating, he licked suddenly dry lips.

A strong hand sneaked into short blond hair, yanking hard and bending his neck at a painful angle. Mycroft was so close that the doctor couldn’t focus properly; he had to close his eyes as the other man physically dragged him closer.

‘Why? Is there a problem with that?’ The older Holmes’s voice was ice cold.

Mycroft’s lips hovered just over his own. John opened his mouth to reply but no sound issued forth, so instead he tried to shake his head but the fist balled tightly in his hair prevented much movement. The resulting tug was almost painful but the fluttering anticipation in his gut was overriding and real physical pain. John moaned softly, Mycroft smiled.

‘Good doctor. Moan for me, make small-‘ Mycroft’s lips brushed his chastely before pulling away, John tried to lean forward to keep the contact of skin on skin but the hand on his head kept him anchored, ‘-helpless little noises.’

He was drawn further into a deeper embrace. John was way off balance and resting between Mycroft’s legs while his captor sucked on his bottom lip violently. His sore, swollen, bruised pout was released just as Sherlock wandered back into the room, still half naked and still utterly delicious.

Mycroft gave a harsh pressing final kiss that stung John’s sensitive lip before glancing at his brother.

‘Strip him, Sherlock.’ He murmured as he pushed the doctor away from him. 

The detective had a hungry look, John noticed, his face a mask of desire. It would appear that his friend was very much eager for the following actions.

Sherlock sat a small plastic bottle on the wooden floor and helped ease his flatmate from his kneeling position. Turing in his embrace their mouths met in a soft, passionate kiss. It was difficult for John to wrap his smaller arms around the tall and lanky frame of the consulting detective but he just about managed it, sliding his hands under the soft purple shirt to kneed even softer skin underneath.

Hands on his hips, Sherlock turned John back to face his brother and began the slow task of stripping him from his clothing, deliberately making sure that Mycroft had a good view from his seated position. 

The doctor blushed, unaccustomed to be shown off and paraded like some sort of prize stallion. But Sherlock’s heavy breathing and lingering touches let him know how much his friend was enjoying this and it helped easy some of the uncertainty. Mycroft’s appreciative gaze was another thing he hadn’t expected to add to his growing excitement.

Shrugging John out his soft cardigan, the garment was soon discarded on the floor. Nimble fingers opened small shirt buttons, hands sweeping over now exposed torso. Groaning at the contact of warm skin against skin, John leaned back against Sherlock’s chest for support as the man rendered him nude at an easily alarming pace.

The detective entertained himself by running his lips, and occasionally tongue, across his friend’s jawline, down his neck, before nuzzling the crook of his neck or shoulder. Walking long fingers down his torso they fumbled slightly at the belt so he skipped that for now eager to move lower. Sherlock rubbed a very much straining erection through John’s jeans which had the smaller man writhing against him in pleasure.  
‘Oh, Sherlock, _yes_.’ John’s voice was breathy, hips bucking outward involuntarily.

Reaching behind him, John cradled a dark curly head between his hands as Sherlock finally succeeded in removing the inconvenient belt and slid his fingers into the waistband of his jeans. The garment was deftly slid to the floor taking underwear with them.

Cool air and the back of his flatmates knuckles brushed John’s erection and nearly caused his knees to buckle under him. Solid arms wrapped around him were the only thing keeping him upright as he found himself begging for more.

 

 

Mycroft watched on appreciatively. Drinking in the new sight of nude John Watson and his brother playing with his new toy. He was a good looking man certainly. Sherlock was all lean and tall, with clean angles and protruding bones but John on the other hand was short, compact. Years out of army service and he was a little soft around the middle but was definitely lovely to look at.

Nodding to his brother to continue, Sherlock eased John back onto the floor, pushing him onto all fours. Sherlock discarded his own shirt so that he was on equal footing and just as naked as the man he was encouraging into his brother’s lap.

With John’s head cradled against his groin, Mycroft gently ran fingers through the man’s hair, stroking in an oddly comforting gesture that caused the recipients eyes to flutter closed. Murmuring soft words of encouragement as he stroked, Mycroft effectively pinned John down whilst Sherlock ran his hands up the inside of his thighs, pushing them ever wider.

The doctor whimpered at the contact and wriggled against his flatmates warm palms, but the older Holmes grip stilled him and prevented much movement. It didn’t stop him moving his head however, shifting his cheek so that it brushed over Mycroft’s suited groin. He could feel he distinct press of a hardening cock underneath his cheek. The movement earned a small soft grunt from Mycroft and a hand placed firmly on the back of his neck to prevent him from doing it again.

‘Not yet.’ The older Holmes murmured, and resumed combing fingers through John’s short blonde hair.

There was the press of cool wet fingertips against his skin and John gasped. Sherlock’s lubricated finger trailed and slow enticing path from the tip of his hanging cock, across his balls and up between the cheeks of his arse. Two forefingers pressed against the tight puckered skin and began massaging in small circles. John wiggled at the new sensation, unsure where to keep still or push back for more.

Sherlock placed his other hand in the small of the doctor’s back and pushed down firmly to prevent writhing as he uncapped the small plastic bottle and poured more of the clear slippery liquid directly onto his skin.

It was slightly cold but every nerve ending was hyper sensitised already. Processing these new unexpected caresses ‘Oh god’ was all John could find himself muttering under his breath and against Mycroft’s lap. He hadn’t realised this could be so pleasurable. 

One fingertip gently pushed past the tight ring of muscle and the doctor squirmed, but trapped between two very solid male bodies, he couldn’t escape. He would need to suffer the torturous pleasure of it all.  
Sherlock inserted a second digit, rotating slowly as he did so. The cries from the man below him were becoming louder. As fingers probed and massaged, John’s cock pulsed all on its own, twitching and straining, demanding stimulation for itself. He had already leaked a small wet patch on the living room floor but it wasn’t enough.

Despite a hand on his back, Johns hips still being to buck back and forth unable to stop himself but also unable to express coherently what he now needed. Moans against Mycroft’s suited lap were unabashed begging and judging by the small rub back and forth underneath him, the government official had a very good view of just what his little brother was doing. 

As if already attune to his flatmates needs Sherlock picked up the pace slightly, fingers pushing in an out a little more firmly, a little faster. Warm palms trailed down John’s spine, across the curve of one buttock before disappearing between his legs. John felt a firm squeeze of his shaft as Sherlock wrapped long fingers around him.

‘ _More_. _Please_.’ John can’t help but beg, but he is unsure about exactly what he is asking for. More what? He just knew he needed something despite enjoying the delicious sensations traveling down his cock and in his backside.

Sherlock carefully inserted a third finger.

‘ _Fuck!_ ’ John’s hands balled tightly into Mycroft’s suit trousers, bunching up all the expensive fabric into knots.

Shamelessly bucking against Sherlock’s hands, John rolls his eyes up from the suit covered lap and along Mycroft’s torso. He certainly didn’t seem to mind the rumpling of his clothing, blue eyes bright, watching eagerly, and a small smile spread across his lips.

‘Ok Sherlock, he is ready.’

Mycroft sounded so sure. Ready? John didn’t know quite what he was supposed to be ready for. Fingers retreated and the doctor gave only a small sigh of dissatisfaction which did not reflect the utter disappointment his body felt at the loss.

Knees sore from the hardwood floor, getting to his feet was a little unsteady and a few cracks reminded John just how old he was getting. 

Sherlock pulled him in for a deep kiss full of probing tongues while his hand slid between his legs to continue a languid caress of his erection. Breathing heavily through his nose, John concentrated on the expert caress of Sherlock’s tongue and tied to prevent himself cumming into the man’s palm.

The familiar sound of a zipper distracted John from the expert fondling his flatmate was treating him to. Turning in Sherlock’s embrace, he caught Mycroft sliding down the zipper on his trousers before reaching into the folds of fabric and removing his own hard cock.

John marvelled at how the older Holmes didn’t even bother undressing fully, he looked as presentable as ever, that is, if one could avoid staring at the straining angry red flesh protruding from an immaculate grey suit. The head glistened, already leaking his own excitement but Sherlock handed his brother the small bottle of lubricant anyway. Mycroft squeezed a small amount into his palm, working it deftly across his own flesh until it was fully wet and glistening.

Hands on hips Sherlock eased John backwards to his brother’s lap, offering kisses in encouragement and to relax the rising panic behind beautiful blue eyes. 

Sitting in his chair, Mycroft leaned back further to allow the doctor space on his lap, some fumbling of limbs and careful placement of feet were needed to accommodate the three men in such a small area. One hand on John’s hip and the other at the base of his own cock, Mycroft helped his brother ease the doctor downwards. 

Holding his breath, Mycroft savoured the sensation as the very tip of his cock eased into the doctor’s tight warm body. There was slight resistance but the man’s weight helped push him downwards and soon John’s body gave way with a small satisfying pop. 

John hissed and froze in his movement. Mycroft bit back and expletive and fought not to buck his hips and impale himself in one swift thrust. With Sherlock it would have been so easy, and much rougher, but doing the man an injury would be the surest way to guarantee that there would not be a repeat performance of these events so he would need to be uncharacteristically gentle.

Sherlock was the one continuing onwards, pushing both men further. Pale fingers curled around the slightly more tanned skin of John’s hips and pushed him down inch by inch into Mycroft’s lap until the doctor was sheathed as far as he could go.

After a few moments to accommodate, Mycroft reached around John’s hip and wrapped his palm around the man’s cock. As the doctor panted, breathing betraying his level of excitement, the older Holmes began tugging in small short movements. 

There may have been groans of pleasure but there was still tension singing down John’s body. His back and thighs were ridged and the firm grip of muscle around Mycroft’s cock is almost painful.  
Sherlock kissed his flatmate, stroking his face gently.

‘Relax, John.’

John only nodded, still not convinced, but any pain or discomfort or unusual sensations were rapidly giving way to a whole new set of pleasurable ones as Sherlock joined in with Mycroft’s caressing hands.  
The older Holmes gave a small experimental buck with his hips. John only tensed and cried out more.

Working lips gently over his face at first, Sherlock began lazily trailing his way down the blond man’s body. Placing lips at the big pulse point in his throat, John shivered violently as Sherlock kissed and nuzzled the area with abandon. 

He didn’t stop there, after ensuring he had the doctors undivided attention, Sherlock began gently nibbling across his collar, down his chest until he came to a flat male nipple. Rolling it around his tongue, licking across the sensitive flesh, Sherlock listened for his friends pleasurable gasps at his actions.

Hands wandered just as much as lips did. Each time the detective hit a particularly sensitive spot, the doctor moaned all the more, letting it be known that spot was just right; it drew a small smirk on Sherlock’s face each time as he focused his attention on the areas that John indicated. He was so transparent.

Mycroft remained stock still, allowing John to get used to the feeling of him buried so deeply inside of him. He cradled the man against his chest, later when they had more time, Mycroft would have liked to feel his skin against the warmth of Johns but for now he contented himself in sinking his teeth into he doctors exposed neck and shoulder. He did enjoy marking his territory. 

Mycroft would like to have said he could maintain his position all afternoon; however the urge to buck his hips was becoming insistent. His brother would need to be quick.

John was relaxing, Sherlock could feel it. Muscles no longer so ridged, he was becoming more pliable on Mycroft lap wigging more and more under his friends lips and wandering hands.  
Arriving at John’s navel, Sherlock dipped his tongue in causing his friend to giggle and writhe.

Mycroft’s breath hitched at the sensation, the feeling obviously wasn’t lost on the doctor either. 

‘ _Oh_!’ John cried. Lips slightly parted and eyes fluttering closed. 

Sherlock smiled into the flesh of his tummy, he was so close.

John wiggled again rotating his hips in a circle, a small sound escaped Mycroft’s throat and Sherlock could see his brother’s long fingers tense around narrow hips. His brother’s face was the usual blank mask but his eyes were closed tight. Sherlock would have to move this along.

Now that John was comfortable moving, Sherlock used his own hands to help him move, the small rotations of his hips causing Mycroft’s cock to brush some very interesting areas. 

As the doctor was distracted with the sensations deep inside him, Sherlock struck, mouth delicately sweeping over the head of the man’s cock before enveloping him completely. 

John was practically paralysed in pleasure. Caught between Mycroft pushing against him on one side and his flatmate drinking him down on the other, the sensation was almost unbearable.

Sherlock’s mouth was expert, sucking and tugging in just the right way with the tip of his tongue flicking over Johns sensitive head on every up stroke. The detective reached up to wrap his hand around the base of John’s cock, gently working it with his hand, watching the foreskin work back and forth and a small amount of pre cum oozing from the tip. Still firmly grabbing the base he wrapped his lips around the head working down the shaft until his lips met his own hands. The man above him flexed slightly as he bobbed his head back and forth in time with the movements of his hands, tongue caressing the underside, swirling it around the head as he drew back before plunging back down again as deeply as he could manage.

The doctor thought that he couldn’t handle much more stimulation but he was sadly mistaken. Mycroft chose his moment and began to move, slowly at first, just a gentle pulse back and forth. His thrusts were shallow and John doubted he was even removing himself a few inches but it was enough to send jolts all though his abdomen. Fingers curled around his hips guiding his movements but prevented the doctor setting his own rhythm. John should have known the Holmes brothers were definitely in control.

As John began to fight against their slow rhythm and panted in pleasure, Mycroft eventually increased his tempo. Hips thudded into the flesh of John’s backside as he was pushed back onto Mycroft’s waiting cock with more force, so much so it tore small incoherent noises from his throat. He couldn’t even form the small pleasurable expletives he had done so before, it seemed like Sherlock was doing his best to suck them right out of his body.

Wide green eyes rolled upwards to meet John’s. It was the look that did it, pink lips wrapped wide around his cock and such an innocent expression give the acts they were performing, Sherlock looked like a fallen angel, curly hair in disarray around his face. Thighs and calves already strained from riding Mycroft’s lap tightened and quivered. The electrical jolts low in his abdomen released in one final explosion of pleasure. John’s breath was torn from his throat, in his head he was whimpering but in reality there was only silence as he came, emptying himself into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. The detective didn’t even flinch, gaze happily fixed on his friends face as he continued to lick and suck until the cock under him was rendered soft and flaccid.

He was exhausted; all John’s muscles protested their ill usage. Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s hands on his hips kept him moving but he couldn’t quite form the brain function to aid the pair. He allowed himself to be moved and led.

After several more moments where all he felt was numbness, John found two sets of hands gently ease him off of the older Holmes lap. Glancing over his shoulder there was a fine film of sweat across Mycroft’s forehead, his cheeks were pink and flushed and eyes slightly unfocused. The usual perfect dark brown hair was uncharacteristically out of place.

His legs wouldn’t fully support him, so the doctor was eased down onto his cool wooden floor, every muscle south of his belly button twitching. 

A few stains had spread across the front of Mycroft’s trousers. Apparently he had cum, John hadn’t even realised, too lost in Sherlock’s face and the release of pleasure of his own body.

Mycroft sighed heavily pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. Did he carry around an industrial pack of them for every meeting with his brother? John stifled a giggle, giddy with his own pleasure and shocked at the act he had just performed. Mycroft smirked at his almost happy-drunk expression before both brothers looked at him with mild concern after a shared glance.

‘Well I’m going to need to go home and change now.’

Mycroft stood, rearranging his clothing. He looked almost presentable, if you could ignore the spreading hue across his cheeks and the unmistakable staining down the front of his suit. 

As John’s cheek pressed against the cool floor he could gaze upwards to see Mycroft’s tall looming figure. Sherlock stayed kneeling beside him, still naked, still hard and ready but the doctor was too busy contemplating falling asleep right where he was to think about his friends need.

Sherlock made a move, John just saw him out of the corner of his eye heading towards his brother. Mycroft’s deep voice shivered throughout the sitting room.

‘Ah, ah Sherlock, you have had your fun from me today when you weren't supposed to. You want anything more you have your new toy to play with’

The government official collected his coat and umbrella form the sofa, ‘I’m going home to change and I will be going back to work. I will leave the two of you to your own entertainments.’

With that, John heard the heels of Mycroft’s polished brogues clicking all the way downstairs and out the front door. He wasn’t sure if he dozed off but the next thing was Sherlock’s face bent over him blinking owlishly, ‘Are you aright John?’

‘Hmmm.’ Was about all he could manage, ‘I’m fine, a bit knackered.’

‘Come on.’

With much protesting muscles and help from the detective, John found himself on his feet and assisted to the bathroom.

In the warmth of the shower, the doctor found some of the tiredness washed away; he concluded that that was probably aided by the presence of his flatmate carefully soaping him with a sponge and running hands over tired muscles. John found himself wanting to repay the favour.

On his knees, with the water spray beating against his back, he made sure that Sherlock was taken care off, the warm water washing away the ejaculate he let dribble form his mouth.

Sherlock’s larger bed was chosen for the venue as the doctor found himself wrapped in a tight embrace. If he had pictured Sherlock in bed at all then it certainly wouldn’t have been snuggling, so was surprised to find himself practically used as a human teddy bear with the detective’s curls tickling under his chin while a heavy arm draped across his stomach and long legs were woven between his. 

Soft breath tickled along John’s collar bone as the pair dozed and embraced. John was surprised to find himself sated and content, drawing small circles across his flatmates bare arm. This was much less awkward than he thought it would be. Although he wasn’t quite sure how things would be going if Mycroft was curled up on his other side. Funnily enough, the doctor couldn’t picture the rather serious demeanour government official naked in bed cuddling in a giant naked puppy pile. But perhaps he was just being harsh. He wondered what would happen from her on in. Did Mycroft usually make a sharp exit after sex? Is this how it would work? Did Mycroft just fuck and leave?

‘So Sherlock, what do we do now?’

‘Well tomorrow, _you_ make me breakfast in bed.’

John scoffed, ‘I don’t think so. Anyway, you don’t eat breakfast.’

‘And we go and see Mycroft tomorrow.’

‘We are going to see your brother?’

‘No doubt there will be punishment for my behaviour today. You will probably enjoy what he has in store.’

If it was anything like today, John decided he might just like it indeed.


End file.
